


Promise that I'll love you for Always

by Nanimok



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Bittersweet, Bittersweet Ending, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Hurt Charles, Post-Canon, Post-X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Movie), X-Men: Dark Phoenix (Movie) Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nanimok/pseuds/Nanimok
Summary: Charles was in the middle of contemplating whether he should wear his white shirt or his blue one for tomorrow’s gala when he feels the nudge in his mind.I like the blue one,a voice clearly not his own says.I like how it’s really bright.





	Promise that I'll love you for Always

Charles was in the middle of contemplating whether he should wear his white shirt or his blue one for tomorrow’s gala when he feels the nudge in his mind.

_I like the blue one, _a voice clearly not his own says. _I like how it’s really bright. _

Charles is careful not to jolt the mind out of his own, but he does exude a thick layer of disapproval.

“Jean.” Charles sighs. “What did we say about reading other people’s minds without their permission, my dear?”

On the doorway, Jean ducks her head, guilty. “Not too do it without asking. Sorry.”

“That’s right,” Charles says, rolling away from his work desk and towards her. “And what are you doing awake? You should be asleep, young lady; it’s clearly past your bedtime.”

“I’m not tired,” Jean says. “Hank’s thinking too loudly, and I don’t know what he’s saying.” She perks up where she stands. “Can I stay here with you? I promise I’ll be quiet.”

_Ah,_ Charles thinks. So it’s one of those days where her telepathy is particularly sensitive.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Charles says. “You’ll be too tired for tomorrow if you don’t get your rest.”

Jean almost pouts, before holding out her pinkie to Charles. “What if I pinkie-promise?” she asks, jumping on her toes.

“Oh dear,” Charles says, amused. “You must really be avoiding sleeping if you’re pulling out something as sacred as a pinkie promise.”

“Please, Charles. _Please_?”

“How about this,” Charles holds out his own pinkie for Jean to take. “I take you down to the kitchen and make you a cup of hot cocoa. Then we go back to your room and I will read you a story. Promise me you’ll try sleeping after?”

Jean looks suspicious. “What kind of story,” she asks, because of course, she knows Charles could pick the shortest book on her shelf to get her asleep as soon as possible.

“This kind,” Charles says, tapping on the side of his head.

This brightens Jean up immensely. “Okay!” she says, hooking her pinkie around Charles.

And so off they venture to the kitchens, where Jean was quite specific with how she wanted how cocoa made (_one teaspoon of sugar—but not a small teaspoon, and not too big a teaspoon either)_ making Charles sympathetic towards The Three Bears Goldilocks had visited. Still, Charles meticulously followed her instructions since he would never want to be the one who gets in between a child and their hot cocoa.

Once Jean is back in her bed, settled under her blankets, and Charles has parked beside her, he feels a tentative, mental touch in his mind.

_Come in, my darling, _Charles beckons in his head, and a warm mind that feels so distinctly like _Jean _settles comfortably in his head. Out loud, he says, “So what are we feeling for tonight?

“I want a princess, and a knight. Oh! And a fair!”

Charles nods. “Very exciting.”

Around them, Jean’s room shifts and swirls. Her mahogany walls melt until they are replaced with bustling people and brick footpaths. Music and cheers swells in the air. There is a crowd surrounding a wooden fence, where Charles has conjured up a small horse racing track with people leaning on the fence, spurring them on.

Jean tugs on his shirtsleeve. “Who’s walking at us?” she asks. “Is that the princess and the knight?“

Charles looks to where she was pointing and sees only characters he modeled off of random people on the street. “No, but the princess and the knight does deserve some peace and quiet before one of them gets kidnapped. Would you be able to help me with them, Jean?”

Tilting her head, Jean stares at the spot until two figures break away from the crowd walking against them. One figure with red hair and blue skin wearing a long, flowing, red dress, and one figure with blue fur wearing a shiny set of armour.

“Lovely,” Charles says, and he can feel the way Jean’s mind buzz in happiness from his words. “They look like Raven and Hank, don’t they. If that were true…” Charles leans closer to Jean, as if he’s about to share a secret, “…would Raven _really _be the princess that needs rescuing?”

Jean seem to agree. In the next couple of seconds, Raven’s dress morphs into shiny metal while Hank’s morphs itself into long, flowing silk. Jean is gracious enough to trim Hank’s dress with ribbons at the bottom, and at the edges of his sleeves.

Hank’s dress matches Raven’s hair, and together they’re quite a delightful sight. Raven dips Hank in flourishing bow, and even through Hank’s blue fur, they can see him flushing bright red.

“Beautiful!” Charles declares. “You have an eye for detail. Truly, a master seamstress!”

Pleased with his approval, Jean giggles, and the sky ripples beside her. She grabs her hot cocoa from the table stand appearing from thin air, after which, the table stand conveniently disappears.

The action is so endearing that Charles smiles. Physically she’s already finished her drink, but if she wants to take it with her, who is he to judge?

“I think they’re heading to the castle,” Charles says. “Shall we continue our story there?”

Jean nods eagerly. With one hand on her mug, she holds the armrest of Charles wheelchair on the other, and they both set off to follow their knight and princess.

* * *

Charles wakes up with his pillow wet, feeling like his chest crushing in itself. He presses his face into his pillow, shuts his eyes close and focusing on every small detail of Jean’s freckles as the memory replays itself in his mind.

Not for the first time in his life, he wishes that he’d never been a telepath. He wishes that his emotions weren’t so sharp and that his mind blurred with age. It feels so unnatural that he should outlive both Raven and Jean—he wishes—_God, _he wishes—

Even as he’s entering his wiser years, he’s still wishing for such silly impossible things.

He never got the chance to tell them how much he loved them either. For as long as he lived, Charles will never stop wishing for a moment where he could have told them how much he loved them.

He feels the bed dip behind him, as Erik turns onto his side, facing Charles. He’s awake, Charles knows, and he’s weighing if he should approach Charles about his dream or wait for Charles to turn to him instead.

That’s new, Charles thinks, for Erik to think out his options first before acting. That’s certainly never been his strongest point.

Charles toys with the idea of pretending to be asleep. Then he decides that no, he won’t do it to the man who opened his home, his heart _and _his mind for Charles to stay in. Erik doesn’t deserve Charles shutting him out. Erik deserves better and Charles has always strived to do better.

“She’s always been powerful, even when she was younger,” Charles says. “Sometimes, her powers made her restless, so she and I would shape pictures and stories in our mind as way to tire her out. She was supposed to run the school,” Charles pauses, because at some point, his voice started shaking and he can’t seem to stop. “After Raven, Hank, and I have retired. Jean, Scott, Storm, Kurt and Peter. My board of trustees. It doesn’t feel that they’re gone… I just…”

He presses his face into his elbow and focuses on breathing. He could hear Erik shuffle himself closer, and rub warm soothing circles on his chest.

They stay like that in silence, until Charles feels a soft caress in his mind.

_Will you show me? _Erik asks, his mental voice so full with love and care and understanding, so familiar that it aches with every echo.

It will never stop hurting, Charles knows. It will never stop feeling like his heart is being torn apart like a piece of flimsy fabric.

At the same time, Charles wouldn’t trade the memory for anything in the world. 

Charles reaches for Erik’s hand and squeezes it. Together, with their hands clasped, Charles takes Erik back to that night in his office, back to the night before the gala, when he was contemplating between his white shirt and his blue one, and a small voice made the decision for him.

**Author's Note:**

> ;_;


End file.
